The words hit harder than they should. Because I have thought them too. Because somewhere beneath the red dress and the diamonds and the way Yaromir looked at me, I know this marriage began as a weapon. Maybe I am still only that. A pretty insult with a ring.
My throat tightens.
Dmitri’s hand slides from my wrist to my forearm. “Come back before this gets worse,” he says.
I look at him then. Really look at him.
The man I almost married.
The man I once thought would save me from being Sergei Sokolov’s daughter.
And all I see is someone who can’t understand how completely he has lost me.
I pull my arm free. “Do not touch me again.”
His expression changes. “Anya.”
I step back. The corridor tilts a little around me. I hate that he has rattled me. I hate that my heart is racing. I hate that I need to get away before the tears threatening my eyes become visible.
So I turn and walk quickly toward the women’s restroom.
I don’t run at first.
Then I hear him follow, and I move faster.
Inside, the bathroom is all marble, mirrors, and gold light. Too quiet compared to the auction hall. I push through the door and brace both hands on the sink, breathing hard.
Do not cry.
Do not cry.
Do not cry.
My reflection stares back at me. Red dress. Bright eyes. Mouth pressed tight.
Dmitri is wrong.
He is. He has to be.
The door opens behind me.
I spin.
Dmitri steps inside.
For a second, I’m too shocked to speak.
“This is a women’s bathroom,” I say.
He locks the door.
My blood goes cold. “Dmitri.”
“I just want to talk.”
“No.” My voice rises. “You need to leave.”
He moves toward me. “You always did this. You ran before you understood anything.”